


Sick Day

by CCs_World



Series: Taakitz Drabbles [6]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Bird son can't take care of himself, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, taako has his hands full
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 03:22:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14559744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCs_World/pseuds/CCs_World
Summary: Kravitz wakes up one morning feeling pretty dreadful. But it's nothing. Reapers can't get sick.





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> RIP it's been a bit since I've written something so take this sickfic fluff as a peace offering

By now, Kravitz is used to his sluggish heartbeat, his lukewarm temperature, his intermittent breathing. He’s used to his half-life these days, his hands slightly cool instead of cold, closer to a typical, comfortable body temperature. Breathing is normal, now, even if he forgets to do it sometimes. Same with the slow thudding in his chest, pushing blood sluggishly through his veins.

This morning, however, when he wakes up, he finds that he feels uncomfortably hot, his constructed body coated in a thin sheen of sweat. He tries to sit up but immediately feels dizzy and kind of nauseous. His head spins, and he groans and lies back down. The groan comes out as more of a squeaky whisper as he quickly discovers that his voice is completely gone.

“Krav?” Taako mumbles, blinking sleepily at Kravitz from beside him in the bed. “You okay there, babe?”

“Yep,” he rasps, “absolutely fine.”

Taako frowns. “What happened to your voice?”

Kravitz sniffles involuntarily, which clues him in to the pressure in his sinuses. “Shit,” he mumbles.

“Krav,” Taako grins. “Are you sick?”

“I am a constructed being of the Raven Queen,” Kravitz says sullenly. “I can’t get sick.” He sneezes.

“Holy shit,” Taako giggles. “The Grim Reaper has a head cold!”

Kravitz glowers at him, but the expression is ruined by his bloodshot eyes and runny nose. “I’m fine,” he says, and shivers as a horrible chill runs through him. He pulls the blankets tighter around him. “Just tired. Gonna go back to sleep for a bit.”

His eyelids are uncomfortably heavy and he closes his eyes, drifting off into a restless sleep, plagued by strange dreams.

He’s woken a half hour later by an insistent tug on his essence, signalling a bounty to hunt. Muttering a curse, he sits up. “Go back to sleep, babe,” Taako says. His voice sounds wholly unimpressed.

“Gotta go… gotta go to work,” Kravitz says sleepily, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders and summoning his scythe. At least his voice is somewhat back. “I’ll see you tonight.” He rips a hole in the fabric of space-time and steps through, his blanket-cloak trailing behind him.

He arrives in a necromancer’s den, in front of a man in black robes, kneeling in front of a chalk-scratched pentagram. Candles flicker in the room.

Kravitz opens his golden book and, blinking blearily, flips through until he finds the name of his bounty. “Darin Riverbrook, by summoning these--achoo!--demonic entities, you have violated the--achoo!--laws of life and--achoo!--death.” He sniffles. “Come easily and your trip to the--achoo!--Eternal Stockade will be painless.” He inhales to keep speaking but instead he just ends up coughing, almost doubling over from the effort. When he catches his breath, he looks back at his book and continues. “Shit. Uh, if you resist, I will have to--achoo!--use force.”

He looks at the necromancer, who is looking at him in mild concern. “Did you want some Fantasy DayQuil?” he asks. “No offense, your Reaperness, but--you look like hell. And--are those skull print pajama pants?”

Kravitz scowls. “I’m fine, it’s pajama day.”

The necromancer grins. “Shit, really? They have that for reapers?”

“Not that it matters to you,” Kravitz says, and swings his scythe.

And is overcome with dizziness.

And stumbles.

And misses.

“Shit! I mean--fuck! I mean--!” He swings again, wildly, and just manages to rip the soul from the man's body.

“Dude, what the fuck!” the necromancer yelps.

Kravitz rolls his eyes and with an exhausted flick of his hand he sends the spirit to the Stockade before he wearily leans on his scythe, trying to catch his breath.

**_Kravitz,_ ** his Queen’s voice says in his head, tinged with concern.  **_Are you well?_ **

“I'm fine,” he insists. He doesn't feel fine.

**_Come home,_ ** She says.  **_Let me see you._ **

Sighing, he tears a rift into the Astral Plane and stands before his Queen, shivering beneath his makeshift cloak. “My Queen,” he begins, but She raises a thin, clawed hand and he falls silent.

She eyes him for a moment, and it is a very unpleasant sensation to be eyed by a goddess.  **_Kravitz,_ ** She repeats,  **_you do not look well. Has something happened to your soul? Is your construct damaged? Must I rebuild you in any way?_ **

“I am fine, my Queen,” he argues before doubling over in a painful coughing fit.

**_Kravitz!_ ** Her voice is powerful and commanding and, upon hearing it, he drops to his knees in terror. His arms tremble, and it's not just from the weakness of his body.  **_You are unwell. Are you fading? Are you dying? What spell has hit you?_ **

He considers. Lists the symptoms in his head. Analyzes what Taako and the necromancer said. “My Queen,” he says carefully, his voice trembling, “I think I just… caught a cold.”

There's a pause. Then, a cool breeze toys with Kravitz’s hair and caresses his face as She laughs. **_Oh, Kravitz,_** She hums. **_My most faithful reaper._** **_Go home and sleep. I shall have Barold and Lup take care of any remaining bounties. Return to me when you are well._**

“But my Queen, the job--”

**_You have worked without fail, without breaks, for me for five hundred and sixty-eight years, Kravitz. Go home. Recover. Rest. I command you._ **

“I--yes, my Queen.” Kravitz stands slowly, bows, then swings his scythe and stumbles back into the prime material plane, back into the bedroom he shares with Taako.

The elf in question sits up, his blonde hair messy, looks at him, and says, “Did your bird mom send you home from work early for a sick day or did you just wanna see my face again?”

Instead of answering, Kravitz dispels his scythe and flops unceremoniously onto the bed, face first.

“I see,” Taako says, and though he sounds amused, the hand on the back of Kravitz’s neck is soothing. “Sick day, then.”

Kravitz rolls over to be able to see Taako’s face. He is indeed smiling, but his eyes hold a soft sympathy despite the laughter on his lips. “She's not my mom,” Kravitz sighs. “But--yes. I'm supposed to rest.”

“First cold in a while, huh?” Taako’s gentle hand moves to stroke his hair, his grin still full of laughter, his eyes still soft. “Go back to sleep, babe. I'll make some soup for you in a bit. It'll be baller. Natch.” His thumb traces across Kravitz’s cheekbone and Kravitz relaxes against the touch.

“Thank you,” he manages, his eyes already heavy. He indulges them by letting them close, and he smiles when he feels soft lips on his forehead just before he slips into sleep.


End file.
